


Homegrown Hunger

by TwistedViolets



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Ben centric, Blood and Gore, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting, Tentacles, the horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 14:33:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19297702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwistedViolets/pseuds/TwistedViolets
Summary: Ben wasn't always given lessons on controlling his powers. Unlike like other siblings his power was supposed to have an uncontrollable element to it.He walked around with a monster inside of him that had no moral compass. The way it killed was always done in a ruthless fashion. Many living creatures; human or other have met its wrath. Whether their deaths were deserving or not meant little to Ben. The guilt on his heart kept getting heavier and his siblings became more and more cautious around him.





	Homegrown Hunger

**Author's Note:**

> If blood and gore aren’t your strong suit this fic isn’t for you.
> 
> -For simplicity’s sake the eldritch creature Ben can summon will mainly be referred to as The Horror.
> 
> \- This chapter is more of a preview of things to expect. The next chapters will be longer and kick off the plot.
> 
> -Tags will be updated as the story progresses.

Blood...

It was the very thing that flowed through every living creature the horror tore apart. It is the substance that pours out of the man held above him, his body severed in half and a look of pure fear plastered on his face. Ben felt that substance drip upon his forehead in small droplets but that was nothing compared to the man before this one.

The one whose head the beast inside of him ripped off. Blood didn't just pour out of his stump of a neck it projected on to Ben and painted his skin with its red hue. Now he looks like he's taken a bath in a blood pool, one of his own creation.

The surface of the blood is wet and flows off his skin easily so that he always leaves a trail when he walks. The bottom layer dries on his skin and his lips but despite his desire to lick his lips, he can't. 

Blood tastes disgusting.

He can't even open his mouth without the blood from his top lip trickling inside. So he breathes through his nose and lets the metallic smell drown his senses and make him light headed.

Once all the threats have been taken care of The Horror crawls back inside of him and waits until it's needed again. The bloody tentacles always feel worst going back inside than when they come out. They leave bloody splatters on his chest that are sickeningly warm. A singular click is all he hears when a button on his suit is torn off and it lands on the floor spinning around till it eventually stops.

He doesn't pick it up; the suit is beyond a wash and rinse cycle.

He turns to look at his other siblings who always give him that first look of fear. As if it's him that's the monster and not the being inside his chest. The look changes into acceptance and although he gets smiles and everyone laughs because the job is over he can't help but feel alone beside them.

He isn't given the celebratory hug or even a handshake because nobody wants to share in the blood coating every part of his body. It seeps inside his suit and through every layer until he's too sticky to do anything.

He just wants a shower and time alone.

————————————————————

Limousine's are fancy but the main advantage to them is their leather seats. Dirt, grime, and blood wipe easily off the seats. Even with this in mind he hated tainting the seats in front of his siblings because of the mere fact that the blood isn't his own.

This is the blood of The Horror’s victims. The people who’s last moments were filled with excruciating pain and their screams etching forever into his nightmares. He kept his hands on his lap and stared blankly ahead to dark tinted windows.

He couldn't bear to look at his siblings whose laughter pierced his ears. He didn't want to know what joke Klaus said or hear Allison's chattering. It was the fact that he couldn't join them that made his heartbeat speed up in his chest. The blood caked on his skin prevented them from getting close to him and the blood on his lips prevents him from speaking to them.

The blood made a wall between them that wasn't penetrable. 

He isn't naive. 

He can't convince himself that's the only reason. Whether he admits it or not he knows there's a monster living inside of him and at any moment it could decide to make any one of his siblings it's next victim...

The limousine comes to a stop as it arrives at its destination. His home where he would be greeted by his father who would judge the blood on his skin and his loving mother who would tell him to take a warm bath. Baths didn't work when you were covered in blood but he never corrected her. The daunting always made him feel better.

The limousine's doors open and his siblings pile out and he waits until he's alone before following behind them. He always waits because he wouldn't want to accidentally wipe blood on them.

Through the Umbrella Academy's gate and into its grand doors they go. With Luther helpfully holding the door open until all his siblings have come inside. Although it seems respectful his brother only does it since his father had made it clear that bloody handprints on door handles were no longer going to be tolerated.

He's the only sibling not forced to stand in a line while Reginald critics their performance. It was made clear from their first mission when he came home that standing in one spot only resulted in a puddle of blood. It almost stained the hardwood floor and his mother had to scrub at it for hours. 

So his father had given him and only him a free pass to directly go to the shower. He never complained because all he ever wants to do after a mission is scrub his body. He goes directly to the shower without glancing at his siblings and doesn't touch the staircase's rail when he goes to the second floor.

The bathroom is already propped open because he knew he'd come home drenched in blood. He always does. He stripes off each piece of his clothing slowly and carefully not allowing any of the pieces to fall to the floor. He throws each piece into the bathroom trash bin until he's completely naked.

He turns on the shower and places his hand underneath the water until it's temperature is just right for him. He steps inside and just stands underneath the shower's head while occasionally turning his body until the majority of the blood had been rinsed off and makes a small pool at the button of the tub that will eventually drain.

He takes a bottle of shampoo when his hands aren't bloody anymore and dumps a handful on his hand before scrubbing his head. He scrubs forcefully because blood had a habit of staying in his hair for days afterward. He could still find little blood flakes falling out of his hair when he goes to brush it. 

He does the same motion with the conditioner.

Then he takes a bar of soap and applies it directly to his body. It's his personal soap that's overwhelming strong in scent since the smell of blood often lingered on him. He tried his best to scrub every part of him including his face until he felt like he could move again and his skin smelled less like blood.

The water turned cold by the time he had finished in the shower. He steps out of the tub and wraps himself in a nice towel and stares at himself in the mirror. He's clean and yet it takes a little bit of practice to make his expression less like a statue and more like himself again.

He practices his smile for a moment and nothing more. His bathing time was already long and he has no interest staying in this bathroom that smells of death. He steps out of the room and feels the cold air dry his hair and freeze his skin.


End file.
